


Bird's eye view on the problems of a mortal

by YogrtMan



Category: Dreams of the Sunlit Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogrtMan/pseuds/YogrtMan
Summary: Amon's downtime complications





	1. Another day, another body

> 26: Buy magic item complication. Another seller murdered - you’re starting to notice a pattern. The floor of the tunnel has grown sticky with the djennasi woman’s blood. Multiple tracks… agitated movement, then someone running away. A robbery gone wrong, or something more personal? The ioun stone that the deceased was to deliver hovers merrily above her nose.
> 
>   
>  The police are becoming suspicious about your dealings. They too have seen the pattern. Explain how you convince them that you aren’t the murderer in this case.

* * *

"Asag, your friends are rather overzealous. Has the Queen so little patience?" Amon scoops up the hovering stone, a jagged deep-blue spheroid.

"I'd shrug, but not that easy to do in this form. Not that you could see at this angle anyway", the black-feathered bird on his shoulder replies. "Doubt it's the Queen; honestly, what's a few more days here and there when eternity awaits Probably the same messenger as last time, juuuust a little reminder. Also, the rock isn't red."

"Indeed it is not. A most unnecessary reminder, but so be it." Amon traces the stone with his fingers, appraising its hue. "Come, let us retire before people come asking questions." Later that night, an anonymous note finds its way to the Maze - a murder in a city tunnel. There is no visible trace of the sender.

"Business deals. I had no reason to kill them", Amon said.   
People came asking questions. Of course they did, after he had the courtesy to alert them to the body. He stood before an officer of the Maze investigating the two disappeared traders. As the last expected contact of _both_ disappearances, he was the prime suspect.

"Oh? And just _coincidence_ you carry out a _business deal_ and they disappear? That the best you can do? It's pretty clear cut", the officer says, a balding, plump human. "The way I see it, you arrange a deal, they show up with your goods, then you kill them and grab the merchandise _and_ keep your gold."

Amon gives a tired sigh. He never quite did fully recover from all the reading into this First King Below, and his patience was wearing thin. "Perhaps you should conduct a more in-depth investigation. If that is the best you have for accusing me, you are wholly mistaken. Both merchants are excellent procurers and their reputations precede them. Payment was rendered in advance."

"Ha! But-"

Amon's hand slashes through the air, cutting off the excited officer. "Since you doubt me so, you should know who I am. I am Lord Amon Aldebrand, heir to one of Zwll's most ancient houses, descendant of Elemental Fire itself. I have received the Silver Lamp from _your_ superiors Watch-Captain Fullbright and Chief Khalla for service during the Night of Trembling Earth. Accusing me without proof is a grave insult to my name." 

His hand cuts through the air once more as he sees the officer beginning to protest. "And I know you have no proof", he continues, "because _I did not kill them._ As you would know had you investigated properly, nor did I have any incentive to kill them, as payment had been rendered to them in full in advance. I _will not_ accept further unsubstantiated accusations, or there will be Hell to pay." His voice is little more than a snarl by the end. 

"To be frank, their deaths brings me no joy. I am investigating in my own capacity as well. I will not stand for further deaths of this manner. Now leave. Chief Khalla can vouch for my actions and service. I do not settle my problems with murder."

  
There is little more to be said. Confusion is visible on the officer's face, hesitations voiced, the odd accusation still thrown out. Something doesn't quite add up with this Lord, but there is nothing else he can do - for now. 

Was it just his imagination, or did he hear stifled laughter at the end?

**Amon expends the Letter of Commendation from Chief Khalla to convince the officers.**


	2. Infestation of rats

> **28: Sell magic item complication.** Rats in the walls. They listen to your conversations, read your correspondence when you’re not looking, and hide in Asag’s favourite roosts to spook him. What’s worse, it’s not only the literal rats that seem to suddenly have it in for you. While on your way to sell an exquisite tincture to a doctor you’ve befriended, you’re accosted by a group of ruffians. They politely ask, with knives bared, that you give up the potion.
> 
> Explain how you extract yourself from this unpleasant situation.

* * *

"See, buddy, I'm gonna ask you, _nicely_ , to hand over that package there, yeah? _Please_?", the Boss drawls. Our mark - some merchant or lesser noble - Hell if I care, someone carrying valuable loot. We've surrounded him, me, the Boss, and four others. Some of us have knives drawn, some not - you don't always need a weapon to scare them. The Boss's got a way with his blade though. His weapon, a wicked-sharp straight blade, butchered more poor fools than I could count, but he always took care to clean the thing whenever he had a spare chance. That must be why the blade's still spotless, after all these years.   
"See, we've got someone who really needs it, you'd be doing us a real big favour, yeah? Pretty please?" The mark doesn't flinch though. He meets the Boss's gaze. He looks calm, but I know it's a facade - I can see his eyes flit left and right occasionally. He's sizing us up - does he want a fight? 

The Boss is licking his dagger now - one of his, uh, weirder habits. The mark's eyes narrow. He hasn't so much as moved since we sprang the ambush. Doesn't look like there's a weapon in his hands, but I think I see the outline of a scabbard under his dark cloak. His right hand's on a walking stick of some sort - nicely decorated too, looks like some sort of gemstone inset, and is that gold? Probably would fetch a pretty price.  
Only problem now is if this guy is a mage or not. The magistocrats, the more put-together mages, don't tend to frequent these parts. Around here, the only mages we get are the deranged lunatic nutcases carving up their flesh with all their crazy runes and tattoos and whatnot. Doesn't look to be the case with this guy, but then, he's clearly not from these parts. 

He closes his eyes. The Boss sneers, his freakishly long tongue tracing up the crossguard to the blade. The mark, his mouth moves silently. His eyes flit open, lips parted. Then, he speaks. 

"Tell me, do you value your souls?"  
...the shit? Is this guy one of those snake-men or those soul-crazed demonspawn from the Embassy?

"I have had quite a rat problem this week. It appears to be quite the infestation. Do you know how I deal with infestations?", he continues, voice barely above a whisper.   
"Extermination. I will give you rats exactly three seconds to slink back to whatever hole you crawled out from." He stamps his fancy walking stick on the ground. "Now."

The four of us without drawn weapons all pull out our knives, more-or-less in unison. I can see some grins from behind this arrogant ass. Mage or not, let's see him play with his magic with six knives sticking out of his gut.   
The Boss flips his dagger to a reverse grip, grinning. "You wanna dance, huh? Fine by-"

" _Three._ " The Boss's words are cut short. Then, in a split second, all Hell breaks loose.

The mark raises the stick in his hand. The inset is glowing - shit! He jabs the thing at the Boss, then a whoosh of air like a whole herd of Rothe ran by in half a second and now something's whispering in my ear no screaming no the screaming's coming from the boss it's wait the boss is-  
Just as quick as it started, the chaos dies down. The Boss is still, legs coiled as he was preparing to leap - at or away from the mage? His face is gaunt, unnaturally pale, eyes bulging- "Hey, Boss?", I timidly say. I reach out a hand to him-

In that instant, I feel a wave of cold. I quickly snap back to the mark. The fluttering back of his cloak is to me now. Behind him, four frozen statues where the others used to stand. The cold passes. He slowly turns to me.   
My teeth are chattering. Not from the passing cold. Did he really just take on five of us without batting an eye? This is too much, I didn't sign up for this, they said he was just transporting some loot! He raises his empty hand. I shield my face and close my eyes, prepared for the worst. Hopefully it's painless-

Seconds pass. Nothing happens. I slowly open my eyes. Through my arms I can see the mage, hand outstretched to the Boss, still unmoving. 

" _Serve._ " He enunciates the word clearly, but nonetheless there is a terrible echo to it, like a thousand different voices speaking in unison. Then, the Boss's arm jerks. His leg twitches, eyes flutter. I see a flash of pale blue light in his eyes for a second, and then he jerkily stands straight.  
The mage's hand drops to his side. He turns a look of disgust to me. "Him first, then the rest, and then yourself. Get on with it." His voice is back to normal now.

The Boss shambles towards me, limping. In that moment, I understand what's about to happen. "Wait, Boss-!"  
He doesn't stop. I turn my blade on him - what choice do I have? My blade easily finds its mark and sinks deep into his chest. He's not nearly as dextrous as he was before, luckily. I look above the Boss's slumping body at the mage. He's watching me with a look of amusement. Well, fine, you're next-

  
Huh? 

Cold pain blooms from my left side. I look down. A knife is burrowed in my front. The Boss pulls away, my knife sticking out of his chest, his knife pulling out of me with a squelch. His eyes are on me, looking through me. No, they don't _see_ anything, they're just hollow and empty.  
I fall to my knees. He turns and shuffles away. I fall forward, all strength leaving my body. Desperately, from the ground, I look up. I hear four fading crunches. The Boss shambles away from the body of one of our friends, a single hole visible on his frozen chest. An equivalent wound on each of the others. 

"It appears we are done here. Six rats for the Queen." 

The Boss makes a moaning sound. I see his knife raised high. In the next instant, it's burrowed into his neck. His body thuds onto the ground. 

Footsteps. The mark walks past me as my vision fades.


	3. Two moves ahead

> _**31: Gambling complication.** Meiyou Ren is somewhat of a celebrity in the gambling world. He’s known for playing at high stakes, and for cornering his opponents with a challenge in the most awkward ways possible. When he loudly and quite publicly invites you to play, there’s not much room to refuse - your reputation would suffer. Turns out, he’s not half bad. Describe how you fare against Meiyou, and how you react when you later find a note in your pocket saying:_
>     
>     
>         Amon. Nice name, but gambling’s not a pretty vice. Then again, neither you nor Itzcoatl are beneath this life, skulking in dark backrooms and rutting through graves. I wish you all the best.
>     - A friend.  
>     > 
>       
>     > 
>     
>       

* * *

_"Ah, Dragonchess. Probably perfect for you Lordly types, huh?"_ , Asag remarks as Amon dusts off the pieces.

"In truth, it has been a while since last I played. But yes, it is a favourite amongst the nobility. With all the house calls I have made of late, it seems worthwhile to brush up." The Lord places each piece in its starting position on the board. He prods a few pieces along into a standard opening position. "It would not do to lose _too_ pitifully."

So he spoke four weeks ago. Since then, he dedicated a handful of moments every day playing out simple positions, reading tactics, and playing the occasional match against other Lords. It turns out he was better than he remembered, winning games decidedly and decisively. An off-hand remark by one opponent brought a revelation to him, though. "Bah, you're pretty good, young lord! Say, you ever been to the Ebony Parlour? Lots of real good players there, if you're lookin' to test yourself."

"Test yourself" was all he needed to hear. Amon found himself at the parlour in short time, with a few trinkets, prepared to play against the best the city had to offer. Until he entered the floor.

The place was not quite what he was expecting. From the outside, though nothing special, the bold nameplate of carved marble seemed to indicate a respectable enough establishment, worthy of scholarly tactitians and upstart geniuses. A stark contrast to the spilled cheap liquor and racuous hollering of the packed, dimly-lit bar room.

"New guy! Yo, there's a new guy here!", one voice calls out. Amon does not turn; Asag's invisible eyes are already trained on the caller. The short man swaggers over from the counter. "Hey, new guy, you down for a game? Dice? Cards? Chess? We do all kinds of games here, high stakes, no judgement!"

Amon's eyes narrow. Figures that they play for money. But so be it, a little pocket change was always welcome. His own finances were being drained by his activities on the market as of late. "Dragonchess, then", he replies in a low voice. 

"Excellent, over here, over here!" The man hastily ushers Amon to a back room; it too is packed to the brim, though reeking decidedly less. "Gentlemen!", he calls. "A newcomer today for chess! Who wants to break him in?" A round of chuckles as a dozen pairs of eyes size him up. Amon leisurely meets there gaze. 

"No one else wants to, eh? Fine, I'll do it myself." A paw raises in the air and a black-furred tabaxi pushes a few bodies out of the way as he makes his way to Amon, towering a good head over him. 

"Excellent, excellent! Now, here are the rules - we play with the standard ruleset, of course. We collect bets from everyone, and you're free to bet on yourself, of course...", the short man drones on.   
Amon puts a hefty bet on himself - one way or another, he was determined to make a grand entrance to this parlour. 

...and a grand entrance indeed. The tabaxi proved a good opponent, but Amon was well better. The game was soon decided as Amon forced a winning position early on, and the poor tabaxi was left to fend off unending attacks turn after turn. Amon wins himself a sizable amount; few were interested in this match, but those that were did not bet in his favour. Grumbles and jeers followed him as he left.

  
Since that day, the Ebony Parlour gained a new patron. A masked, hooded master of Dragonchess, known only by the moniker "Raven", made an appearance every third day. A schedule perhaps too regular. A second set of eyes looking behind him picks out a few patrons, eyeing him as he goes about his games. A threat? A challenge? For him to find out.

One fine evening, following a particularly simple game involving a well-executed blitzkrieg tactic, a loud voice from the bar calls out. "Raaaaven! That's your five matches for today? How about one more, one eensie quick one, huh?"

Amon turns to the voice. It's difficult for an outfit to look smart and seedy, but this taunter pulls it off, with just the right contrast. Fine shirt, faded and peeling boots; subdued pendant, loud belt. A few other patrons woop. "Oh shit! Oh shit! Are they gonna go? Hey, Meiyou Ren just challenged Raven!"

The man swings off his stool and struts to the table, a heavy hand on the shoulder of Amon's opponent. "Mei-you- Ren. That's me. Lots of buzz about you, Raven. I'm pretty good at Dragonchess too, you know. How about a go, huh?"

Amon doesn't move; his last opponent scrambles away, joining the circle of onlookers that forms. He is silent for a moment; he had indeed played out his planned five matches of the day, making a sizable sum in winnings. But from the way the other patrons quickly gathered around, it seems this man would be quite the challenge. He considers it. After all, was the reason for coming to this parlour not for good sport? 

"...sit, Meiyou Ren."   
The man grins.

The match begins in earnest; neither player waits for the usual betting to even start, each slamming their own wagers as they make their first move. Though a _very_ generous sum is on the table, the fire in the players' eyes make it clear - this is a match for pride.

Pieces move - not quickly, but deliberately. Traps sprung, gambits employed. The game starts slow, picking up pace to a drawn-out trade of seven pieces, before slowing again. But the pressure does not let up. Both sides furiously assault the enemy King.

Raven loses. His strategy is two moves too slow; Meiyou Ren's gambit pays off first as his King is corraled in the middle of the board. Nonetheless, it was a close match. They shake hands, Meiyou Ren patting him enthusiastically in an overly friendly way, and Amon makes his way home none the worse for wear, albeit with lighter pockets - and a note.

> Amon. Nice name, but gambling’s not a pretty vice. Then again, neither you nor Itzcoatl are beneath this life, skulking in dark backrooms and rutting through graves. I wish you all the best.  
> \- A friend.

  
"Ha! He's got your number, that guy!"

"So it seems. Enigmatic character, did you not think?"

"You can say that again. So, what're you going to do about this? Looks like he knows about your little infiltration."

"If he wished to expose it, it would have happened. If I had to guess, he means... Business."

"Soooo...?"

Amon smirks. "At the Ebony Parlour, there was quite the heated match between one Raven and a local celebrity. Lord Aldebrand heard of this tale, and extended an invitation to the charismatic Meiyou Ren."

"Huh. Well, good luck with that I guess."

"You will not get off that easily. After all, the invite is yours to deliver."

_Sigh_.


End file.
